


murry crisis

by paranormalnerd



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°), Blood and Gore, Gen, tis the season
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 18:55:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9002686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paranormalnerd/pseuds/paranormalnerd
Summary: The boy smiled to himself, while dragging the broken bike in the rain. He didn't need an adult, didn't need anyone, for that matter.





	

**Author's Note:**

> happy non-denominational holidays
> 
> look at me,, properly spacing things
> 
> tw: blood, gore, and i think there's cursing in here as well

Rain pattered down the devoid street, and a car passed by a knocked over bike, the red paint chipping off. The bike had been almost snapped in half, with one of it’s wheels popped off, lying in the middle of the road. A splatter of blood resided on the chipped pavement next to the bicycle’s remaining wheel, still slowly spinning. Nearby a boy lay, softly shivering and choking down small sobs.

His knee had been cut open, the rip in his pants revealing the nasty scrape he had procured. A small trickle of blood was running down his leg, and one of the little boy’s arms were wrapped around his busted up knee.

The knee itself was fine, apart from the scrape which would heal in a few days time. No big deal.

Unless you were a small seven year old, on your own in the dark, damp, rain.

The little boy jumped as another car drove past. Startled by the noise, his eyes widened and he grasped his leg tighter. He sobbed as the car drove away, desperately wishing an adult was there to hold him. Someone to say that it would be okay. That he wasn't alone, and tired, and lost, and wet.

His over-sized coat had been completely soaked through by the rain, heavy against his back. His hoodie, a red one, with a picture of a robot on the front, was quickly becoming soggy as well. The boy coughed through the blanket of fluids on his face. He didn't know if it was tears, or rain, but at this point he didn't care.

This time, as he looked at his knee, the boy grew angry.

He was so stupid to think this was a good idea! He had gotten hurt, and deserved it! Punishment for his foolishness.

Sniffling, the boy wiped his face off, and stood up. He watched as the rain continued to drip, flowing forcefully through the streets and into a gutter. His bike was in shambles, no way was that thing going to be of any use. But, he couldn't just leave it. Dragging part of the bike away from the curb, the boy strained as his arms struggled to carry the acquired weight.

His knees blood was coming to a small halt in it's flow. He was going to be okay.

The boy smiled to himself, while dragging the broken bike in the rain. He didn't need an adult, didn't need  _ anyone _ , for that matter. The rain continued to pour, pounding louder than before in the little ones ears. He shook it off and continued forward.

_ No way did he need help. He was fine on his own. _

 

Years later, the same boy stood, alone once again, on the edge of a large cliff.

The cliff was originally very green, but now was littered by different shades of red. Burnt shrapnel covered most of the area, random pieces of tech scattered throughout. A lone harpoon, a pale blue in color, sat by the bloodied and busted remains of a cockpit.

This time it wasn't raining.

Speckles of blood led a trail to the boy on the cliff. He tenderly clutched his right arm, which was currently wrapped repeatedly in bandages. Crimson blood still leaked out, staining his bandages a pinkish red.

His red hoodie was ripped, the right arm completely torn off. Parts of it were dark brown, as if singed in a fire. Looking upwards, the right side of his face was in poor condition as well. Skin was twisted and bloody, marred into a horrible red mess. His eye was slightly damaged, blood trickling out of it’s corner, mixing with what could have been tears. The disfigured face revealed slight bone sticking through the boy's cheek. The flesh itself was tarnished, spilling across his face, in a displeasurable manner. More blood tricked down his side, dying his hoodie a darker shade.

Sighing, the boy re-positioned his crossed legs, while gingerly holding his right arm like a lifeline.

Looking down at the cliff, he watched a small group flee from a broken building. They were laughing together, despite smoke and ash covering the surrounding area. They were happy to have won, if you could call it winning. The boy clutched his arm tighter, as if the slightest breeze would make it fall off. Sighing to himself, he looked down at his feet. In his lap, the boy had a busted robotic arm. It was bright red, with rims of black and silver surrounding it. The backhand had a blue circle in its middle, which seemed to be slightly glowing. Wires stuck out in every direction, and one of the arms panels had popped out, along with several loose screws. Softly, he opened his mouth to whisper a small reassurance to himself, much like he had long ago.

_ “You don't need help. You're fine on your own.”  _

_ Why would he need friend's? _

  
Deep down, he knew he was lying.


End file.
